Compadres, not Amigos
I don't know why we hung out together. We really couldn't stand one another. There were five of us. And we just sat around, smoking. No one seemed to mind that we smoked. The doctors just told us the problems that could arise. Like the warning on the package. Small and insignificant. The nurses just glanced at us and shook their heads sadly. Other patients asked us for cigarettes. And depending on our moods, we would give them one. I had never smoked, until I got put away. I've never kicked the habit. We almost never spoke to each other. Only if something very interesting came up. That was extremely infrequent. I just joined the group one day - no one seemed to mind or notice. Though we weren't friends, we were unnaturally close knit.
Our leader was Jeanette, an obsessive compulsive. I never understood why she was there. She seemed so normal. Then again, that was through the eyes of a lunatic, so go figure. She was about my age - twenty-five - maybe a little older. She was the oldest of us all, and probably the most average.
My roommate was Bonnie. She was partly brain-dead, due to pushing drugs. She was rather demented too, and obsessed with Evgeny Plushenko. He was a Russian figure skater, whom she thought she was married too. Her walls were covered with his pictures and she made sure she watched every competition he was in. Since there was only one TV in our ward, this sometimes upset others. But no one really spoke out against her. It was rumored that she had killed someone in a fit of rage. We asked the nurses about this, but they wouldn't tell us. So, to be on the safe side, we always let her have her way. Secretly, I think she was a spoiled bitch. I hated sharing a room with her. Eventually, I was moved into Jeanette's room, which suited me perfectly. I always have to laugh when I think of Bonnie, even now. She was so demented. But weren't we all? There were days where I thought Carter and I were married, we had a son - Gustave - and he was coming to get me on that particular day. Heh, I amused my self with the strangest concoctions!
Then there was Monica, who - like me - had schizophrenia and as a result, we could relate to each other well. Sometimes we talked about our "old" lives. She said she lost it because of a car crash she was in, where her parents were killed. She was eighteen at the time, two years ago. I told her about the attack and about Carter. We talked the most. I think we annoyed many people.
And last was Gina. She was a short person who never talked to anyone, in here with a personality disorder. She growled at people, and acted like a cat most of the time. She had a black coat that she wore all the time, even in the middle of summer. Monica told me that she probably had more wrong with her than just a personality disorder. They just didn't want to tell her. We never really knew why she hung out with us, she just did. She never spoke, and we never asked her to. She would sit there in her moth eaten coat, puffing on cigarette after cigarette. She eventually died from lymphoma.
And then there was me. But we've already covered how I got here.
I think the reason we sat around together was because we were all outcasts. I mean how many doctors do you know who get locked up in a loony bin? That's what I thought, very few. Gina was the youngest, sixteen. She was the youngest inmate at the hospital (funny, inmates at a hospital!). She had no one to talk to, so she didn't talk at all. We didn't have anything to talk about. We were all ripped from our lives. We didn't want to remember them, because then we would have to remember what drove us to get here. That meant I would have to remember Paul Sobriki. Someone told me that he was at this very hospital. Perhaps someday we would see each other. Maybe on the grounds, maybe at lunch. I didn't want to. I had to admit that he scared me. I was here because of him. I wondered; would I ever get out? Would I be condemned to grow old in this place? Funny to think about. Two years ago, I would have never thought of anything like this. It's kinda like a movie with weird irony. Whoever controls the cosmos must be falling over with laughter watching us. Watching us thy to figure out the mysteries of life. I don't know why humans try. It won't work. I know. I spent all those endless hours trying to figure it all out.
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"What would you be doing now, if you weren't locked up?" Jeanette ventured one day. That girl had guts to brake the assumed commandment.
I thought about it. What would I be doing? Maybe… I'd be cutting into someone right now, probably. "I guess I'd be at the hospital," I said. I didn't really know. Actually, I'd probably be dead. If Kerry hadn't sent me here when she did, I probably would have commit suicide. To stop the voices.
"I'd be finishing up college," Monica said wistfully. "I was majoring in teaching. I'd like to go back some time. To school. I'd love to teach, but no one would hire me. I'll have this on my record for the rest of my life."
Oh My God! I had never realized that! Romano will never take me back after this, even if my chart said 'recovered.' "I'll probably never get hired back," I said in consolation to Monica - and just to depress myself.
"What type of medicine were you in?" Jeanette asked. "I know you're a doctor, but what kind?"
"ER," I said simply.
"Wow, and you mean that didn't drive you over the edge?" Monica said.
"You get used to it," I said simply.
We never said "crazy" or "nuts." It was precedent. Nuts were never served on food, and no one ever said something like "Are you crazy?!" meaning that's really stupid to do, or why the hell did you do that? When I went back to the "real world" I never used the term, and my coworkers were considerate enough to try and refrain from using it as well, but complete strangers used it, and it always scared me a bit.
I don't know why we hung out together. We really couldn't stand one another. There were five of us. And we just sat around, smoking. No one seemed to mind that we smoked. The doctors just told us the problems that could arise. Like the warning on the package. Small and insignificant. The nurses just glanced at us and shook their heads sadly. Other patients asked us for cigarettes. And depending on our moods, we would give them one. I had never smoked, until I got put away. I've never kicked the habit. We almost never spoke to each other. Only if something very interesting came up. That was extremely infrequent. I just joined the group one day - no one seemed to mind or notice. Though we weren't friends, we were unnaturally close knit.
Our leader was Jeanette, an obsessive compulsive. I never understood why she was there. She seemed so normal. Then again, that was through the eyes of a lunatic, so go figure. She was about my age - twenty-five - maybe a little older. She was the oldest of us all, and probably the most average.
My roommate was Bonnie. She was partly brain-dead, due to pushing drugs. She was rather demented too, and obsessed with Evgeny Plushenko. He was a Russian figure skater, whom she thought she was married too. Her walls were covered with his pictures and she made sure she watched every competition he was in. Since there was only one TV in our ward, this sometimes upset others. But no one really spoke out against her. It was rumored that she had killed someone in a fit of rage. We asked the nurses about this, but they wouldn't tell us. So, to be on the safe side, we always let her have her way. Secretly, I think she was a spoiled bitch. I hated sharing a room with her. Eventually, I was moved into Jeanette's room, which suited me perfectly. I always have to laugh when I think of Bonnie, even now. She was so demented. But weren't we all? There were days where I thought Carter and I were married, we had a son - Gustave - and he was coming to get me on that particular day. Heh, I amused my self with the strangest concoctions!
Then there was Monica, who - like me - had schizophrenia and as a result, we could relate to each other well. Sometimes we talked about our "old" lives. She said she lost it because of a car crash she was in, where her parents were killed. She was eighteen at the time, two years ago. I told her about the attack and about Carter. We talked the most. I think we annoyed many people.
And last was Gina. She was a short person who never talked to anyone, in here with a personality disorder. She growled at people, and acted like a cat most of the time. She had a black coat that she wore all the time, even in the middle of summer. Monica told me that she probably had more wrong with her than just a personality disorder. They just didn't want to tell her. We never really knew why she hung out with us, she just did. She never spoke, and we never asked her to. She would sit there in her moth eaten coat, puffing on cigarette after cigarette. She eventually died from lymphoma.
And then there was me. But we've already covered how I got here.
I think the reason we sat around together was because we were all outcasts. I mean how many doctors do you know who get locked up in a loony bin? That's what I thought, very few. Gina was the youngest, sixteen. She was the youngest inmate at the hospital (funny, inmates at a hospital!). She had no one to talk to, so she didn't talk at all. We didn't have anything to talk about. We were all ripped from our lives. We didn't want to remember them, because then we would have to remember what drove us to get here. That meant I would have to remember Paul Sobriki. Someone told me that he was at this very hospital. Perhaps someday we would see each other. Maybe on the grounds, maybe at lunch. I didn't want to. I had to admit that he scared me. I was here because of him. I wondered; would I ever get out? Would I be condemned to grow old in this place? Funny to think about. Two years ago, I would have never thought of anything like this. It's kinda like a movie with weird irony. Whoever controls the cosmos must be falling over with laughter watching us. Watching us thy to figure out the mysteries of life. I don't know why humans try. It won't work. I know. I spent all those endless hours trying to figure it all out.
------------------------
"What would you be doing now, if you weren't locked up?" Jeanette ventured one day. That girl had guts to brake the assumed commandment.
I thought about it. What would I be doing? Maybe… I'd be cutting into someone right now, probably. "I guess I'd be at the hospital," I said. I didn't really know. Actually, I'd probably be dead. If Kerry hadn't sent me here when she did, I probably would have commit suicide. To stop the voices.
"I'd be finishing up college," Monica said wistfully. "I was majoring in teaching. I'd like to go back some time. To school. I'd love to teach, but no one would hire me. I'll have this on my record for the rest of my life."
Oh My God! I had never realized that! Romano will never take me back after this, even if my chart said 'recovered.' "I'll probably never get hired back," I said in consolation to Monica - and just to depress myself.
"What type of medicine were you in?" Jeanette asked. "I know you're a doctor, but what kind?"
"ER," I said simply.
"Wow, and you mean that didn't drive you over the edge?" Monica said.
"You get used to it," I said simply.
We never said "crazy" or "nuts." It was precedent. Nuts were never served on food, and no one ever said something like "Are you crazy?!" meaning that's really stupid to do, or why the hell did you do that? When I went back to the "real world" I never used the term, and my coworkers were considerate enough to try and refrain from using it as well, but complete strangers used it, and it always scared me a bit.
